fifteen: in which she doesn't shoot the messenger

"'Cause everybody's got something, something they can't hide" –Rudimental & Foxes, Right Here

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The top floor of the house was the actual club where the bikers and their women hung out. You could be fooled into thinking the Phantoms' sanctuary was a normal home – until you went upstairs. Walls had been broken down between the many rooms, creating a large dance floor and bar area. It had been like this for years, Ella had once said, and I had never been allowed upstairs to see for myself.

But even as a teenager inadvertently thrust into the biker lifestyle because of my cousin, I'd been curious about what went on upstairs while I was restricted to do my homework in the kitchen. The entire upstairs area had been soundproofed and a big, ageing biker was always sitting at the foot of the stairs, smoking a cigarette and absently waving me away whenever I'd try to stalk past him as stealthily as I possibly could.

"This ain't a place for innocent little girls like you," he'd rasped, puffing a plume of smoke into my face, "so run along and be innocent."

He could've been a leather-clad Gandalf, telling me that I couldn't pass. This arbitrary memory only reminded me that I was a big girl now and far from innocent. That morning, after Jake slipped out of bed, I got dressed and went to breakfast. It seemed as though everyone was still asleep, probably passed out drunk, so I had free reign in the kitchen. While the bacon sizzled in the skillet, I made enough scrambled eggs for a house full of men. It was the last I could do, I figured.

"Has old Ghost finally gotten himself an old lady?" a voice said from behind me.

Startled by the loud female voice, I turned abruptly. "An old lady?"

The tall, dark-haired woman standing behind the island arched a disbelieving brow. "You know, a wife?" She shook her head, swishing her ponytail. "You look confused. None of the other bitches here ever step into a kitchen unless they're married to a member, so I was just thinking you and the Prez –"

"Nope. Not married."

She straddled a bar stool, elbows on the countertop. "I've never seen you here before. I'm Pusѕy."

"Come again?"

"Wrong choice of words, babe," she said with a huge grin. "Been my name since high school. What do you go by?"

"It's Maya. Just Maya. Sometimes M."

"Huh."

"So...how'd you get your, um, interesting name?" It was just easy to fall into conversation with this woman. She seemed as unassuming as a woman like her could be, as tattooed and leather-covered – was everything about leather these days? – as she was.

Pusѕy turned out to be the president of an all-women's motorcycle club, the Bloody Marys. She was very easygoing and forthcoming with information, including the fact that she was a terrible cook, had been dyeing her brown hair black since high school, and had slept with Ghost "a shitload of times, mostly out of boredom". In fact, she was here for an early-morning hook-up, except that Ghost was nowhere to be found. The smell of breakfast cooking had brought her to the kitchen.

"So whose woman are you?" Pusѕy wanted to know, thanking me when I set a plate of bacon and eggs in front of her.

I sniffed. "I'm no one's woman."

"'Kay. Got a brother in the club?"

"No."

Pussy was eating and talking at a speed that alarmed me. "Your dad a member?"

I shook my head, putting a rind of bacon to my lips. "I'm just a friend."

"Huh," she uttered again, sounding thoughtful. "You interest me, Maya."

"You don't even know me, Pu-" I cleared my throat, trying to keep a straight face. "You don't even know me."

"Exactly. I know everyone, even the bitches that hang around here like flies, wet for some club coсk. See, my old man was president of the Phantoms way back when and I practically grew up in this house." She held up a silver chain bearing the Phantoms' insignia, the grim reaper. "This was his."

She kept up most of the conversation after that, telling me that the Bloody Marys were looking for new recruits and that I would be perfect to join.

"Thanks for the offer, but I already have a job. I'm a registered nurse."

"So? Most bikers have day jobs, too," Pusѕy pointed out.

"Interesting, but no. The culture just isn't for me."

"I get it. But you're free to stop by our clubhouse whenever you want. You know, to check it out." She rattled off an address I recognized.

"Wasn't that building a church?"

"Yeah, until it was razed to the ground, remember? The fire of '97. Awful ѕhit."

Yes, I remembered. My parents had gotten married in that church on a whim. They weren't even Methodists but my mother had liked the inside of the building. So my father had organized everything.

I snapped out of the memory at the sight of Jake in the entryway. He looked like he'd just gotten back from a ride on his bike, windswept hair and everything. His eyes brightened with recognition when they locked on Pusѕy's back.

"Pusѕy?"

She swiveled around on the stool then jumped to her feet. "Well, if it isn't the ex sergeant-of-arms," she murmured with a laugh, meeting Jake halfway in an abrupt kiss. I rolled my eyes at the sound of tongue thrusting into mouth and before I could throw up, I turned to make myself a cup of black coffee.

Jake and Pusѕy eventually stopped introducing their tonsils to each other. Their low voices and Pusѕy's occasional chortling became my soundtrack until my phone rang from where it lay beside the stove. An unknown number flickered across the screen. I answered with a guarded, "Hello?"

"Maya? Hi, this is Max. Max Stevenson?"

Vaguely, I remembered a Max who worked with Sebastian. "Yes?"

"I, ah, have something for you. From Bass. Can we meet?"

"Oh, really? That's great news. When and where?" I sounded overly bright and perky – for Jake's benefit.

"There's this bistro Bass used to take you,"quot; Max began, "and before you ask how I know – I told him about the place. I'm there right now."

"Okay. That sounds perfect. Thanks, Kira." I hung up, gripping my phone in my hand a bit too tight. I needed to calm myself down but I didn't know how. Just hearing Sebastian's name – and the stupid nickname most of his friends had dubbed him – was enough to send me into a murderous rage.

Cool it, Maya. Cool it.

I nearly jumped right out of my skin when someone touched my shoulder. Jake. It was just Jake, not the boogeyman, I had to tell myself.

"Morning," he said, leaning down. He looked pretty good, unshaven jaw and wildly mussed golden-brown hair.

I slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes widening in outraged disbelief. "Are you freaking kidding me? You want to kiss me when you were just kissing somebody else?" I hissed out at him.

"Oh, honey, I'm squeaky clean," Pusѕy called from behind us. "Can't speak for Rip, though."

Jake had an amused look in his eyes as he gently prized my fingers from his face. "Pusѕy's a good friend. I was just saying hello."

"You really don't have to explain your greeting habits to me," I told him, successfully unlocking my fingers from his. "For the record, I'm an oral kinda girl."

Jake's gaze heated my skin. "Oral, huh? That remains to be seen. And felt."

"Oh, grow up. You know I meant verbal."

He chuckled, and I instantly started thinking of a good excuse to give him so that I could leave for that bistro...because Jake was not just going to let me skip on out the house without at least putting a tracking device on me, that was for sure.

"I need to change my clothes," I blurted out. "Kira needs me."

"Why? I think you look pretty fuсking good in my shirt," Jake said, his voice low and promising. His fingers were already playing with the hem, twisting it in a fist. "But definitely better out of it."

I swallowed audibly. "Pig."

He leaned in again, his lips brushing against my ear so that only I could hear him say, "I feel like eating this bacon right off your pusѕy. Guess that makes me a cannibal."

Somehow, I found enough breath to whisper an incredulous, "Who even thinks about something like that?" I shook my head, backing away from him before I could succumb. The mental image he was painting was unconventional yet tempting. "Great meeting you, Puѕs...y. Later, Jake."

I stepped past Jake and out the kitchen, grabbing my things from his room before leaving. The house was awake now and sleepy, hung-over men were appearing from every nook and cranny like humongous roaches. I mumbled a greeting to each one I passed, but really, all I could think of was Sebastian and what he could possibly have left for me before he obviously skipped town.

I didn't want to shoot the messenger but he was the next best thing.

***

I never told Sebastian how much I hated eating out at the bistro on the corner of Howell Street. Each time he took me out to dinner there, I wanted to scream at him to open his eyes and actually look at the place.

The restaurant was probably the size of a 7-11, yet there was a maître d' standing in the "foyer" and a hostess who reeked of smoke and always dressed in something red and shimmery. They both spoke in the worst faux French accents known to man and probably made up 99.9% of the "French" phrases they haphazardly uttered. They made Steve Martin's version of Inspector Clouseau sound like a wealthy Parisian aristocrat and I always refrained from rolling my eyes at their performance.

This morning, neither one was by the entrance and I was free to sit where I wanted. A few diners sat at the small round wooden tables, drinking coffee and reading the morning paper. Max was easy enough to spot because, from what I could see, he was dressed just like my ex-boyfriend. He was scruffy haired and had a little black goatee. Clear green bespectacled eyes met mine and then he was standing, pulling out the chair opposite his. The dress shirt he was wearing was a dazzling turquoise and the pants he wore were black.

"Nice shirt," he said by way of greeting. "I'm Max."

I wanted to kick myself for not changing out of Jake's shirt and my leggings but the truth was that it didn't matter what I wore. I had the sinking feeling that this meeting was not going to make me happy in any way.

"Max, you need to make this quick," I told him, but he was looking at the laminated menu.

"Do you want something to drink? Coffee, maybe?"

"No. I want you to tell me what you want."

"You're sure you're okay in the beverage department?"

"Thanks for the offer, but I'm fine. Seriously."

He let out a heavy sigh, setting the menu down. "Fair enough."

I waited as patiently as I possibly could while he bent to his side and dug around in the black laptop bag I'd spotted beside his chair. He sat back up and placed a khaki envelope on the table.

"For you," he said, and after a long moment of silence went on to say, "You know how Bass resigned months ago? Well, I told him it was a crappy thing to do in this economy, and I think..." His voice trailed off.

"What?" I said, because I hadn't known that. Sebastian hadn't mentioned it. Hell, every night that we had dinner, he'd regale me with stories about work.

Yet another skeleton in Sebastian Brown's closet.

Max's face flushed a deep red. He was actually quite cute, in a Peter Parker kind of way. "I thought you knew."

Of course, he'd thought I'd known. Boyfriends tell their girlfriends everything. Isn't that the way things go when it comes to dating? Clearly not when it came to Sebastian freaking Brown.

Instead of making small talk with Max, I ripped the envelope open and took out the folded page of paper. He'd typed this letter; actually sat down at his Mac and opened Microsoft Word to type this. Chose the font – Palatino Linotype – and its size. Probably saved the document as My Big Fuck-You to My Girlfriend the Patsy.docx before printing it on his little Toshiba printer at home and folding it into three so that it could fit into this small envelope.

I sucked in air, trying to clear my head. I shouldn't have been over-thinking this when I hadn't even read the damn letter to begin with.

Maya,

You know I would never intentionally do anything to hurt you and I know you said we weren't together because we loved each other – which was probably true – but aside from my family, you're all I have. All I've had.

I know it was probably a stupid idea to write a letter but technology isn't safe for me anymore and I promise to explain more about that to you. If you give me the chance.

I do care about you and I know you care about me and maybe that's enough. You're not safe, which is my fault and was never my intention. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I want to meet with you and explain everything.

All you have to do is meet me at the binary code.

Seb

"Are you OK?" Max sounded uncertain, as if he were afraid I'd blow up at him for speaking. He wasn't being unreasonable.

Carefully, I folded the paper and stuck it back into the envelope before shoving it into my bag. "Yes, Max. I'm great. Just fine, really."

I didn't recognize my monotonous voice, didn't recognize the quiet, homicidal anger blanketing me. Sebastian actually had the nerve to be cryptic. After everything, he was treating this like a joke.

"You sure? Because you look...livid," Max prodded, looking concerned.

"Thank you for delivering this. Did Sebastian give it to you himself?"

Max shook his head. "No, it was the weirdest thing. He must've gotten into my car last night and left it for me. There was a Post-it asking me to give it to you ASAP."

"A Post-it. Definitely good old Sebastian," I muttered dryly.

"Is he in any trouble? Because I can help, Maya. Bass is a good guy."

I got to my feet. "Everything is fine, Max. Thank you for doing this."

The hostess met me on my way out. She was in all her red, shimmery finery this early in the morning and she called out, "Mercy bow coops for visiting The Chateau, madame!"